Constellations
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "It's cold outside, the promise of snow hanging crisp in the air, but ice has never bothered Steven, and the weather is enough to promise the solitude Klaus suspects he needs right now." Steven takes a break from socializing with Klaus's family and Klaus follows him.


Klaus finds Steven on the back porch.

It's not a hard trick to locate him. Even in the roar of voices filling the space in the house Klaus is confident he could pick the resonance of Steven's out from across the room, is sure that the odd hiccuping catch of the other's laughter would give him away within the span of minutes. But there's no one inside that's not related to Klaus by blood in one way or another, and after that it's a short step of logic to figure where Steven will be. It's cold outside, with the promise of snow hanging crisp in the air, but ice has never bothered Steven, and the weather is enough to promise the solitude Klaus suspects the other needs right now.

Steven doesn't turn around when Klaus eases the door open, doesn't glance back even when it clicks shut to hold back the tide of sound from the crowd inside. The air is icy, clings to the heat of Klaus's breath as if to try to make ice of the moisture in it as it leaves his lungs, but Klaus is flushed with conversation and food and a just-finished glass of brandy, and when he moves it's to cross the few steps to Steven's side, where he's leaning against the porch railing and looking up to the overcast sky.

"It's a nice night," Steven says without looking at Klaus as the other draws alongside him to fit his attention to the hunch of Steven's shoulders and the awkward, strained angle of his wrists cast carelessly over the edge of the railing. "Don't you think?"

"We don't have to stay," Klaus says, attempting the low volume of a whisper and only managing to rumble the words the louder in his chest. "Is it too much?"

Steven shakes his head. He's smiling, the odd crooked one that is more sincere and looks sadder than those that he puts on for more general consumption. It crinkles the corners of his eyes, tugs taut at the edge of his scar; his eyes look very dark in the faint illumination of the overcast sky. "It's fine," he says. "Everyone is perfect. Like you."

"There's a lot of us," Klaus says rather than acknowledge the compliment. "I know it's hard to deal with when we're all together like this."

"No," Steven says, still looking at the sky. Klaus can see his eyelashes when he blinks, can watch the studied slow of their arc shift down against Steven's knife-edge cheekbones and back up. "I like it. I like them." He tips his head sideways, lets his gaze slide from the sky to land at Klaus's face; his smile goes softer, his eyes easing into affection, and this is the smile that is only for Klaus, that Steven never lets free at all around other people. "Like I like you."

Klaus doesn't say anything. This is a pause for consideration, a moment of quiet for Steven to collect his thoughts, and speech would be an interruption to the flow of the interaction, would be as inexcusably inappropriate as laughter. He reaches out instead, touches his fingers to the angle of Steven's passive wrist to press friction against the cuff of the other's suit. Steven's gaze tracks the motion, follows it down to his own skin, and his soft smile lingers as he turns his hand over, offering his palm to the faint illumination of the shadowed moonlight and to the warmth of Klaus's touch.

"I'm not one of them," he says to their hands as Klaus drags up across Steven's skin to fit his fingers between the other's, to lace the radiant heat of his hand against the night-chill of Steven's. "I like your family. They're kind and generous and open and loving." His fingers flex, tighten; Klaus can feel the strain in the tendons, can fit his fingers against the angular lines of Steven's knuckles under his touch. "I'm not like them."

"You don't have to be," Klaus tells him, still attempting to speak softly. Steven shifts his hand, turns his wrist to pull Klaus's hand in closer, and Klaus takes a half-step in to close the distance between them, until the toes of his shoes are nearly touching Steven's. He reaches out to fit his hand against the hunch of Steven's shoulders, to flatten the chill of the other's coat against the planes of his shoulderblades. "You can be yourself here."

"I know," Steven says. He's still looking at their joined hands, still shifting his fingers like he can't quite find a comfortable angle. His soft smile quirks to tension, tugs into that sharp sincere grin again. "That's why I'm out here."

"Would you like me to go?" Klaus asks.

Steven's headshake is fast, decisive and as crisp as the bite of frost in the air. "No," he says. "I'd like you to stay."

"Very well," Klaus says, and lets his hand at Steven's back weight heavier to press harder at the other's shoulders. Steven's eyelashes flutter, he lets out a breath that turns to steam, and then he unfolds from the railing entirely, pivoting away from the support of the wood and leaning in against Klaus's chest instead. His forehead fits at Klaus's shoulder, his hand lands at the other's waist; Klaus slides his arm around, catches Steven's narrow shoulders in the span of his hold, and doesn't let his grip on the other's fingers go.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. Then: "It's snowing," Steven says against the front of Klaus's jacket, the words coming warm into the fabric.

Klaus looks up. The sky is still dark, black with the weight of clouds blocking the view of the moon, but there are flecks of white drifting through the chill, stars unmoored from their places to flutter towards the ground. They catch at Klaus's sleeve, lingering there for a moment before they melt to invisibility.

"It's beautiful," Klaus says, watching the snowflakes frost the fabric of his coat.

Steven lifts his head. In the dark his eyes are ebony, his skin luminescent; snowflakes catch in the waves of his hair, land against the black to form unnamed constellations as fleeting as the quirk of the smile on his lips.

"Do you think so?" he asks.

Klaus nods, solemn, certain, steady. "Yes," he answers.

When Steven rises up on his toes to kiss him, Klaus can feel the snowflakes that melt between their lips.


End file.
